


My Neighbor Castiel

by My_floaty_coaty_boy



Series: Ghibli SPN reimagines [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Kid!Fic, Totoro AU, just a good pure wholesome fic, my neighbour totoro - Freeform, nature god!Cas
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13080783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_floaty_coaty_boy/pseuds/My_floaty_coaty_boy
Summary: John Winchester moves his sons to the countryside, nearer to the hospital that his wife, their mother, Many Winchester is staying. The house is old. The nightlife is nonexistent. Sam and Dean find magic in their house and the forest behind it, in the form of Castiel, a feathered Nature god.





	1. 1992

The landscape was beautiful. The air was nothing like the city; a cool and clean breeze wove its way in through the windows of the impala, carrying with it the scent of the growing vegetables and the forests lining the track.

               “Dean, move! I wanna see!” Small hands pawed at his jacket with what small force they could muster, and Dean sighed before turning away from the open window.

               “You can look out your side!”

               “Bu’ my side is jus’ trees! Your side has— _people!”_ Sam’s chubby little finger pointed behind Dean, and the two boys swarmed back to the window on Dean’s side as the black car, probably so out of place in the peaceful landscape, passed the figures of people working the fields.

               “ _He-ey!”_ Sam yelled, waving his whole arm wildly so the people would see them. The people in the field paused in their jobs and waved back, leaning on rakes that glinted in the late morning sun, which hung in the sky unobstructed by clouds and smog that plagued the city.

               “OK, boys. We’re nearly there.” John’s voice was gruff but cheerful. The car slowed, and turned left, starting its ascent of the mountainous hill towards the house. Their house. The roads here weren’t like they were where they used to live. Instead of grey rock, the paths were dusty dirt trails. The ground was a light colour, lined with rich green grass and underlined with clear blew rivers. Dean liked the ducks that swam there.

               The crest of the hill was punctuated with twin gasps from the brothers as the house came into view. Sam and Dean all but fell out of the car before it stopped, chasing each other around the building to inspect its form. It was _old_. The white paint on the wood panels was peeling, the patio was broken, some of the screen windows had holes. They hurtled over the decking on the back side, jumping over holes where it had broken. Wooden beams covered the deck, ready for climbing plants and lanterns. Dean hung from one of the supports and spun, yelling in surprise when it moved and shoving it back into place carefully.

               There was a water pump under a tiny shelter, and enough space to grow their own vegetables. The land was lined with trees, which bled together to form a billowing forest, stretching for hundreds of thousands of miles. Probably. Dean wasn’t good with judging distances. Because he was twelve.

               “Sam! Dean!” Their father smiled at them from over the top of a box marked ‘kitchen’. “Why don’t you go look inside? See if you can find the stairs?” He shouldered the back door open, moving to the side just about fast enough as Sam and Dean bundled inside, Dean running ahead, yelling back that Sam was ‘it’. “ _Take off your shoes before you go inside!”_

               And the inside. It was all wood and big glassless windows in the walls between rooms. There was a narrow kitchen, with a flat iron stove and a big farmhouse sink. Dean toed his sneakers off, helping Sam with his before running off.

“C’mon, Sammy, we gotta find the stairs!”

There was a bathroom, with a huge built-in bathtub and green tiles. Dean hid in the bathtub, and when Sam found the room, he jumped out.

               “ _Boo!”_

Sam shrieked in laughter and ran ahead. Dean followed him as fast as he could, not letting the rhythmic sounds of Sammy’s footprints on the creaky floor fade away with distance. He followed his brother round corner after corner, and he was pretty sure they were going in circles, but that didn’t really matter and—

               _BAM!_

He skidded to a stop as he rounded a corner. Sam was there, blinking hard and getting up from where he’d fallen. A door, heavy and wooden, had been opened from its place in the wall. They hadn’t even noticed it before. Sam seemed OK, so Dean tugged him along as he shuffled around the door. _The stairs_.

               “ _Da-ad!”_ Dean started the summoning, and Sam joined in when he realized what was happening.

 _“What?_ Oh! You found the stairs, good job.” John appeared around the corner, smiling at them as he placed another box down.

               “No, I thought you opened it.”

               John’s brow furrowed minutely, before smiling and crouching to whisper at them. “Well, if it wasn’t me, and it wasn’t either of you two, then who was it? Do you think we’ve got a ghost?”

               Sam gasped. “No ghost! No!”

               Dean grinned and turned to his brother. “Why not, Sam? You _scared_?” He made claws with his fingers and bared his teeth, cornering the smaller boy against the wall.

               “No! ‘m not scared!” Sam yelled, voice trembling with fear.

               “Dean,” John warned.

               “Good!” Dean grinned at his brother, resting his hands on his hips. “It’s good you’re not scared, ‘cause it’s the _ghost_ that should be scared! ‘Cause we’re gonna find it!”

               “Like _Ghostbus’ers_?” Sam whispered, in awe of his Big Brave Brother.

               “Exactly! So we gotta go up stairs and tell the ghost that this is _our_ house now! C’mon!” Dean grabbed his brothers hand and moved towards the stairs, pulling Sam up the first few.

               “ _Dean! Wait!”_   Sam pulled him back, using his other hand to point at a step a few ahead of him, that Dean had missed in his haste. On the stair, shimmering in the low light from the hall, was a tiny, fluffy feather. This on its own wasn’t strange. What was strange was that the feather seemed to be _glowing_. Not iridescent, Dean had seen that on ducks, but _glowing_. Little blue sparks wormed their way around the fluffy thing, lazily glinting. Sam swiped the feather up, brining it closer to his face to inspect it. “ _Magic.”_

               “Ghost magic.” Dean corrected. “Look, there’s another one!” He jumped up the two steps to swipe the black glow-y fluff off the floor.

               Dean led his brother to the attic, gathering feathers as he found them. They reached the top of the steps and Dean froze. Sam bumped into him, and was about to protest the sudden stop when he, too, realized what they were looking at.

               “What…What _are_ they?” Sam hissed in the kind of non-whisper that small children manage, and Dean leant down to speak quieter, lest he disturb what they were seeing.

               “D’you think they’re ghosts?”

               “All of them?”

               The things in question were tiny, collecting in the shady corners of the spacious attic. They were fluffy, black. Feathery. They glowed.

               “Hey! Are you ghosts?” Dean asked at the fluffs, making sure to speak clearly and loudly, just in case they weren’t that good at English. Dean remembered when Sammy was a baby, before he learned to talk properly. Maybe these fluffs were baby fluffs.

               They didn’t react much, other than shifting around a little.

               “ _Hey!”_ Dean called, slightly louder than before. The group of fluffs shuffled around again, retreating momentarily closer to the corners of the room, leaving little back smudges on the walls before moving back to their space. “ _Hey!”_

               Sam joined in. “ _HEY! HEY! HEEEY!”_

“ _This is our house! Not yours, ghosts!”_

 _“Yeah!”_ Sam seconded, before running to the middle of the room. Dean joined him, and the two began their chorus of ‘hey’s again, this time jumping around in circles, stomping loudly. The fluffs seemed to dislike this, and they scattered away into the walls in a flurry of black smudge and a rustling noise whose volume could rival a hundred jackhammers. A thousand. Dean had not heard a lot of jackhammers.

               But, the fluffs were gone. All except one. The straggler, who seemed to have been bustled into a confusion, drifted down away from the walls. Right in front of Sam. The young Winchester gasped at the proximity, and in a burst of panic clapped his hands over the fluff. Sparks fluttered around his fingers, like static, and for a few moments, they stood, in silence, staring at Sam’s cupped hands.

               Then Sam begun to scream.

So, naturally, Dean joined in.

Sam jumped a few times on the spot before running back down the stairs. Dean followed him, careful not to fall down the stairs as his brother hurtled down them, hands outstretched and fluff still caught inside, screaming ongoing.

Dean thought Sam might have run forever, if not for the woman he bumped in to. Dean didn’t stop in time and bumped into Sam, making him stumble forward again.

“Well, hey, hon! Who’s this?” The woman was tall, but not as tall as John. She had blonde hair, and a strong accent. Dean didn’t know where the accent was from.

“Ah, Ellen, these are my sons I mentioned. Dean is the one in the jacket, Sam is the one who is in desperate need of a haircut.”

“No!” Sam protested, separating his hands and grabbing his hair.

“Sammy! Your hands!” Dean gasped and grabbed one of his little brother’s hands, turning the palm upwards. Both the small boy’s hands were coated in a thick layer of black soot, and feathers clung to his chubby little fingers.

“Your feet! Both of you! No treading all that mud through here!”

“But…There was a _thing_!” Sam’s lip twitched.

“It’s OK, Sammy, we’ll find another one.” Dean smiled at him, and Ellen crouched to their eye level, holding Sam’s hands.

“What was the thing, Sam?” 

“It…It was a…fluffy thing!” Sam huffed, his eight-year-old vocabulary failing him. “It had feathers and didn’t like when we yelled and the other ones flew into the walls!”

“I see, I see. I think I know what it was. See, Sammy, those things are sprites. They live in big old houses that have been empty for a _really_ long time. They’re a little scared of new people, but seeing them is supposed to be good luck. It means that your house is very special. Magic lives here, boys.”

Sam gasped, and Dean was suddenly aware that his mouth was open. “Magic? Not ghosts?”

Ellen chuckled. “Maybe ghosts, too. But the sprites mean that whatever magic is here is good. It’s safe, and lucky, and _nice_.”

“D’you hear that, dad? _Magic! We live in a magic house! We live In a magic house!”_ Sam clapped, elated, and began dancing around the halls, singing and clapping in time. Dean laughed and followed him, mimicking his song and dance.

John sighed, “Boys, please! Your socks are dirty, you’re gonna tread it all thought the house!”

Without faltering in the song, Sam fell on his ass and shuffled his socks off, Dean doing the same but instead of sitting, he just hopped in circles until his feet were bare. “We live in a magic house!”

Ellen chuckled and continued to chat with John while the Winchester brothers danced around the house, looking for more sprites.

“Well, I’d love to help you unpack, but I gotta pick up my daughter from school. She’s about Dean’s age; I’ll send her around tomorrow with some food an’ she can help.”

“Thanks, Ellen. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye. And give my best wishes to your wife next time you see her, huh, Winchester?”

“Sure, will do, Ellen.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Did you know Ellen before?”

               “Uh, yeah, we met at school. I haven’t seen her in a long time, but she lives nearby and when she heard we were moving closer, she wanted to stop by.”

               They were in the bathroom, Sammy sitting in the huge bathtub, splashing with a small yellow duck. It was the evening. They’d made pasta for dinner and sat on the patio as the sun set over the forest, and now Dean was sat on the toilet seat in his pyjamas, where he’d paused in his dramatic performance of the BFG to ask John the question.

               “Ellen said she had a kid my age.”

“Jo.”

“Right. D’you know if she’s cool?” Dean swung his legs absentmindedly. “I don’t wanna hang out with her if she doesn’t like _Star Wars_. Or _Ghostbusters._ Or _Indiana Jones.”_

John chuckled, squeezing some shampoo into his hands and starting to wash Sam’s hair. “I’m sure she’s cool. With Ellen as a mother, she’s definitely going to be something. Now, you were saying about the BFG’s dream-making?”

“No, dad, we have to skip that bit. It gives Sam nightmares.”

Sam nodded sagely, and John huffed a laugh. “Sure, OK, skip that bit. But go on.”

Dean moved forwards a few pages, but before he could start again, Sam mumbled, “Hey, dad? Will…Will living here help mom? More than the city?”

The question was muted, and met with twin pauses as Dean looked to their father for the answer. “I…I hope so, boys. I think she’ll be happier out here. I think we’ll all be happier.”

“Good.” The brothers said in unison.

Good, indeed.


	2. While Dean's Away...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean is at school, and John is working, Sam makes an important discovery. Or...Does he?

As it turned out, Jo was cool. She liked _Star Wars_ , and _Indiana Jones_ , and _Ghostbusters,_ and hundreds of other things Dean liked. And she liked to play with Sam. The three became quick friends, and Jo visited most days after school and sometimes on the weekend.

               But it was times like these, when Dean and Jo were at school, that Sam got bored. John was working, scribbling away on forms that Sam didn’t understand, but knew now not to use as paper plane practise, or working on repairs around the house. Which meant that he was on his own, left to fend for himself in the garden or the attic as John stayed in his study, back doors open, or replacing boards on the patio. This morning, it was the former.

               Sam trotted around the garden, tiny trowel in his chubby fist and blue bucket trailing behind him as he worked his way through plotting his own adventure. Today, he was a discoverer. He wanted to discover something new, in the foreign, mystical land he’d found himself in. So far, he’d found flowers. They were all different colours, but there were bunches of them around the edges of the garden, where the forest came to greet the end of their land. He’d picked three yellow ones, four purple, because he liked that colour, and one white one. Now, what to do with them?

               From the house he heard his father sigh heavily. Aha. He waddled up to the house, as small children have a want to do, gripping the flowers. John was at his desk, patio doors open and paperweights the only thing saving his work from the gentle breeze.

               Sam, just about tall enough to see the top of the desk, placed the bundle of flowers, one at a time, next to his father’s hand.

               “Thanks, Sammy.” John huffed, happy for the distraction. Sam just nodded and placed the rest of the flowers down.

               “Dad, is it lunch next?”

               “We just had breakfast! Tell you what,” John grinned, turning to fully face his youngest son, “Why don’t you go try the water pump? If it works, we can use the water to make cocoa, and when your brother comes home from school, we can make noodle soup. How’s that?”

               Sam cheered and dropped the trowel on the desk, dragging the bucket to the pump. John smiled after him and turned back to his work. He didn’t see what Sam saw.

               What Sam saw was this: A black fluff.

               The sprite was bigger than the attic ones, with more form than the tiny fluffy balls from before. This one had what looked like wings, or at least stubs that would grow into them. It looked more like a round bird.

               It hopped along the ground, picking up seeds with what might be a beak and dropping them into a little pouch slung around it’s chest. It would pick up a seed, or stone, or something, hop a few paces, and pick something else up.

Sam followed it for a few steps, hopping along when the bird hopped, stopping when it did. After a few movements, the creature seemed to catch on to it’s tagalong, and hopped faster, glancing back at him every so often. Sam just matched its pace.

The bird sped up.

So did Sam.

Eventually, a cat-and-mouse chase erupted, the bird full on pelting through the grass, Sam sprinting after it. The bird swerved and zigzagged, but Sam had years of tag experience to draw on.

               He didn’t expect the bird to disappear, in thin air. But it did. Sam skidded to a halt, well aware that it could still be around.

               Nothing. Nothing. Gone. No! There—no, nope, just the breeze.

               But _that_ wasn’t. That was a seed, falling to the ground out of nowhere. And a second one. And a third. A _trail_.

               So, he followed it. The trail got faster, until it hit a patch of particularly tall grass. Then the trail was lost.

               Until a smaller, white fluff jumped, nearby. Then, all heck broke loose. The white fluff realized its mistake, rushed towards the forest, and the trail picked up from the grass, following it. Sam wasn’t going to give them a head start, and rushed after them. Into the undergrowth. The path was twisted and full of branches, but it _was_ a path. It got thorny for a stretch, but he was determined to catch the big sprites. He hit a particularly rough patch of thorn bush, and tripped. He heard the rip of fabric as his knees and hands hit the ground and _stung_. They _hurt_. He thought he saw blood on the ground, but he couldn’t give up. He staggered up, but only got a few more steps before tripping again.

               But he didn’t hit the ground.

Instead, he plummeted downwards, and downwards, a grassy rabbit hole, impossibly deep, impossibly…impossible. _Like Alice_. Dean read that to him once. He didn’t like the Red Queen.

               Then, he hit the ground.

               But. Not the ground.

               The surface he fell onto moved under him, and it was _soft_. And a little bit scratchy. What was more alarming, however, was the surprised grunt that the surface made when he landed, and the abrupt rolling motion that followed. The end of the surface cane into sight, and Sam realized—they were _wings._ Huge, black, opalescent and perfect. And suddenly, gone.

Sam fell the remaining few feet, hitting the floor with a hard _whumph_. He suspected that it could have been worse if the wings hadn’t caught him, but it still hurt his newly formed scrapes.

He sat up, rubbing his hands on his shirt to wipe off as much dirt as he could. Then he realized—wings have owners.

               He turned around, slowly, so whatever creature was no doubt staring at him would maybe not attack him right now.

               The winged thing was if fact…not a creature. Or, not what he’d expected the creature to look like, at least. It looked…it looked human. Mostly. It had larger black feathers, not small ones like the fluff, poking out of his skin. On its head it had messy black hair, some of which fell in front of two bright blue eyes, brighter than Sam’s little blue bucket, brighter than the sky, the brightest blue ever, at least to an eight-year-old. It looked tall, but it was lying on a bed of that green mushy stuff that grew on trees. _Moss_ , Sam’s brain supplied.

One of its wings was leaning against the wall of the cavern the thing was sleeping against. The other one, the one Sam had fallen on, was lying across the floor, longest feather a few inches from his foot.

               The thing was staring at him.

               “Hello.” Sam didn’t know if the thing spoke English, so he spoke as carefully as he could.

               The thing blinked slowly at him. “Hello.” Its voice was gruff like Sam’s dad’s, but it was very different in every other sense. Quieter. Tinged with an accent that Sam had never heard.

               “I—I’m sorry I fell on you. I was looking for…” Sam stopped speaking, attention grabbed as the little birds from before hopped into view from across the cavern.

               “It’s OK. What’s your name?” The thing smiled at him, and Sam lost whatever trepidation he’d had about the creature. It looked safe. He felt safe.

               “I’m Sam. I didn’t know you lived here, I live…out there.” He pointed to the hole from which he’d fallen. “I guess…we’re neighbours? Dad says we have to be nice to neighbours.”

               The creature was smiling fully now, and when Sam finished rambling, it asked in a soft voice, “who’s ‘we’?”

               “My brother and me.”

               “You have a brother? Is he older or younger?” The thing sat up, wings folding behind it’s back.

               “Older. He’s called Dean. He’s a jerk sometimes, but he’s pretty good the rest of the time.”

               The thing chuckled. “I’m glad to hear it. Sam, my name is Castiel.”

               “ _Do_ you live here?”

               “Yes, I suppose I do. I live in all the forests, and the skies, and the grass. I live in nature.”

               Sam’s brow furrowed. “We live in a house.”

               The creature, Castiel, laughed openly at that. “Yes, most people do. But I suppose I’m not exactly a people, though.”

               “ _Person_ , not people. What do you mean?”

               “Sam, you believe in magic, yes? All intelligent people do.”

               Sam nodded vigorously, “Our house has magic sprites in it, Ellen said so!”

               Castiel hummed. “I’m magic. I look after the forests, and the skies, and the grass. All of nature.”

               “Woah. That’s a lot to look after. Me an’ Dean looked after a mouse once, we found it in the basement of our old home, but it only lasted a couple o’ weeks cos we forgot to feed it.”

               Castiel nodded sagely. “Food helps. The creatures who live in my domain feed themselves, mostly. I help the little ones who eat plants though.”

               Sam nodded, but was cut off by a yawn. He had been running for a long time. Castiel seemed to be affected by the yawn, stifling his own.

               “I apologize, Sam, but you did wake me up. I’m tired, and I think you are too. Would you like to stay here to sleep? It’s quieter than out there.”

               Sam nodded, and Castiel shuffled closer to the wall, leaving space on the moss for Sam, who gladly took it, rolling up in a ball.

               He fell asleep almost instantly.

               “— _Sammy! Sam! Where are you?!”_ Dean’s voice shot through his sleep like a bolt of lightning.

               Sam sat up, and immediately noticed that lack of moss underneath him. He was in a different place. Castiel wasn’t here. Where was he?

               “Sammy!”

               “Dean?!” Sam followed the sound of his brother’s voice, effectively starting a game of Marco Polo.

               “Sam!” The voice was closer. Sam walked quicker, suddenly feeling more alone in the forest than he did before. There was a line of hedge and tall grass that he was sure marked the end of the forest and the start of his garden.

               “Dean!” He broke into a run, bursting through the hedge and temporarily blinded by the bright mid-afternoon sun.

               “Sammy! Where were you?” Dean caught him mid-run, and suddenly Sam felt safe again.

               “Dean! I saw a sprite again and I followed it into the forest and there was a path and I fell down a hole and there was wings and moss and—Castiel!”

               Dean looked puzzled. “Castiel? What’s that?”

               Sam fumbled for words, and their father appeared over Dean’s shoulder. “Sam, you can’t just run off like that.”

               “I didn’t! I met Castiel and we fell asleep but now he’s not there and—”

               “Sam, Sammy, whoa, slow down! Who’s Castiel?” Dean shushed him, stepping back to clearer see his brother.

               “He had blue eyes, black hair, _huge_ wings, and feathers, a-and, he said he was magic and he lived in the forest and the sky and—”

               “He sounds awesome! Where was he?” Dean smiled, excited at the prospect of meeting the magic forest-dweller.

               “Look!” Sam tugged on Dean’s sleeve, turning of the spot and leading him thought the hedge, leaving John still in the garden. He didn’t have time to process the sudden disappearance of his sons, because it took mere seconds for them to appear again, a few hedges over. Sam stopped, dead still, and then tugged Dean back into the hedges. They appeared again in front of John.

               “But…But he was here…” Sam’s lip trembled in warning.

               “Maybe you dreamed it.”

               “ _No!_ Castiel was there! Look, I fell down the hole and hit my hands!” He showed them his perfectly healed palms. “Well, I ripped my shirt on a thorn—” His clothes were fine. “But…But…”

               “Hey, hey, hey, Sam, buddy, it’s OK! Maybe he helped you! If he really is magic, then he must only appear to people when he wants to. Maybe he’s just not feeling very social right now. Or, y’know, he sounds really important--Maybe he’s just a little busy taking care of the forest. Maybe we should thank him for taking care of you, though.” John smiled reassuringly at the youngest Winchester, who sniffed and nodded, wiping his nose.

The three of them turned to the forest, and Sam cleared his throat, ready for his Bin Important speech. “Thank you, Castiel, for helping me and letting me sleep in your home. I hope you feel social again soon so you can meet Dean!”

“Thanks, Castiel.” Dean and John chorused after Sam had finished.

“OK, so, let’s go get dinner, yeah?”

               “Noodle soup!” Sam reminded him, all but begging with his big brown puppy eyes.

               John chuckled. “Yes, noodle soup. Come on, let’s get inside.”

               “You told Castiel about me?” Dean asked as they trudged towards the kitchen.

               Sam nodded and began to tell him the extent of the forest creatures conversation with him.

               He didn’t forget about Castiel, and he knew it wasn’t a dream. But he peeked over the hedges every day, looking for a small black bird sprite. Just in case.


	3. The Bus Stop

CHAPTER 3:

Sam was bored. On a Saturday. It was unheard of. Dean was here, but he was doing homework. _Homework_! On a _Saturday_!

               Ugh.

               “Dean, I’m hungry!”

               “We just had dinner. You can’t be hungry.”

               He had a point. “ _Fine.”_ Sam sighed, and started to pick at the floor, drawing patterns with the grain of the wood. The only noises were Dean’s pencil on the paper, and the distant thump of rain on the roof.

“Dean, I’m bo-ored!” Sam wined. That usually worked.

“So? I’m busy.” Dean scribbled something on the paper.

“But you’ve been doing that for _ever_. I want to play!”

Dean sighed and put the paper in his schoolbag. He turned to face Sam, who grinned and jumped excitedly. “You’re done! That means we can go play? We can get Jo too!”

“I’m done. But we can’t go get Jo.”

Sam pouted. “Why?”

The older Winchester brother rolled his eyes. “Duh, brightspark, its _raining_. If we go get her, she’ll want to splash in the puddles, which means we’ll get wet, which means Ellen and Dad will moan at us again.”

Sam threw his head back and groaned loudly. “Ugh! Fine! But…There were umbrellas in the hall! We can bring them!”

“Umbrella _s?_ More than one?”  Dean hopped off his chair, zipping up his bag and dragging it after him towards the hallway, where three umbrellas were leaning against the door. On the right, Sam’s small blue one with multicolour moose printed on it, and a curved handle. In the middle, Dean’s brand new green one. He’d just gotten big enough for a full size one last December. And, closest to the door, their dad’s big, black umbrella, complete with pointy stand.

“Oh, no! That’s Dad’s! If he doesn’t have it, he’ll have to walk back in the rain from the bus!” Dean grabbed his boots from the corner, tossing Sam’s at the floor in front of him. “Put your boots and coat on.”

“What time is dad getting back?”

“He said his bus’ll pull in at seven o’clock. It’s half past six now.”

The two busied themselves with putting their raincoats on, and Dean grabbed his dads umbrella, and then his own. “Get your umbrella and let’s go.”

               “I can’t.”

               Dean sighed. “Why not?”

               “It has a hole.”

               He started at his brother for a moment, then rolled his eyes. “Fine. You can use mine, I’ll use dad’s. Then, when the bus arrives, I’ll take mine back and you can walk with me.”

               Sam nodded, grinning. “Thanks, Dean. You’re the _bestest_ big brother ever!”

               “I know I am, and don’t you forget it.” Dean shoved Sam lightly, grinning. “Come on, let’s go.” He held his hand out, and Sam gladly took it, holding Dean’s umbrella (which looked comically oversized in his small hands) in his other hand. Dean led him out the door, and Sam put the umbrella up between them.

               The walk to the bus stop was wet. Sam jumped in a puddle, meaning Dean got muddy water all up his leg. Which meant there was no reason to avoid the rain any more.

               A splash war commenced, and, while it wasn’t clear who won, Dean was taller, so he got less wet above the hip when Sam jumped in the puddles. 

               By the time they got to the bus stop, it was dark. The street lanterns had turned on, but the bus stop was a little one, just a sign on the side of the dirt track, so there was only one lamp for a long stretch of road.

               “So, here we are. We have to wait, now, I guess.”

               Sam yawned, and leaned heavily against his brother. “Dean, I’m…I’m tired. It’s dark…”

               Dean huffed, and took he umbrella from him, and crouched. “Listen, climb on.”

               Sam murmured something that may have been a, ‘ _Thanks, Dean,’_ and clambered on to his brother’s back. Dean held the umbrella over them both.

               Then, they waited.

               For a long time.

               They must have been waiting for an hour, or thereabouts, and the bus still hadn’t shown up. Sam was getting heavy, and Dean had had to adjust he umbrella several times just to keep a hold of it. He was miserable, cold, lonely. Wet.

               But suddenly, he wasn’t alone.

               The figure next to him was tall, and feathery. Dean didn’t want to look directly at it, lest he scare it. Or, more accurately, it scare him.

               If he looked in the corner of his eyes, he could see huge folded black wings behind the creature. He wondered how far they could stretch back.

               The creature hummed, or grunted, snapping Dean’s eyes back to it.

               The creature regarded him with bright blue eyes, and a small smile.

               The creature’s voice was soft. “Hello.”

               Dean felt his eyes widen, and looked at the ground, guilty from being caught staring. “H-Hi.”

               “You’re Dean, right? Your brother told me about you.”

               He shifted his weight, adjusting his grip on Sam. “You’re Castiel.”

               Castiel smiled at him again. “That I am.” Water hit his face, and he jumped.

               “Oh!” Dean held the umbrella between his chin and shoulder, allowing him a free hand to open his dad’s umbrella. Then he offered it to upwards. “Cas, take this. Then you’ll be dry.”

               Castiel blinked at him, and took the handle of the umbrella in one graceful hand, and held it above his head. “Thank you.”

               They stood in silence for a moment, until Dean noticed Castiel flinch. “What’s up?”

               Castiel’s head twitched to the side like a puzzled puppy, as he considered Dean’s question. “Usually, clouds. Maybe some aeroplanes. Definitely the rest of the sky.”          

               Dean snorted. “No, it’s a saying. It means ‘what’s wrong’ or, ‘what’s happening’?”

               Castiel nodded sagely. “Of course, my apologies. I was simply listening to the rain on the shelter you gave me. It makes a very pleasant sound.”

               “I can’t hear it; Sam snores.” Dean whispered.

               Castiel shifted on his feet, standing taller than before. Then, he jumped.

               The ground _shook,_ and hundreds of raindrops hit the umbrellas above them. The sound was loud, louder than Sam’s breaths, and somehow, it sounded _magical_. Dean remembered, before his mother went to the hospital, that she used to dance in the kitchen, tapping spoons on bottles to make him and Sam laugh. This sounded like that, but like it was being played a thousand times, in the most melodic tune Dean had ever heard. It was beautiful.

               “That…That was amazing.”

               Castiel grinned at him. “I think so, too.”

               Something over the trees beeped, and Dean saw twin headlights appear at the end of the road. Castiel cleared his throat, and when Dean looked back at him, he had a hand out. In his palm was a small bundle of leaves, tied up in a bow with some hemp.

               “Open it when you’re at home.”

Dean took the parcel, inspecting it in the non-existent light under the umbrella. When he looked up, conscious of the bus getting louder as it approached, he whispered, “Thanks.”

               Castiel nodded affirmingly, and the wings behind him fluttered out. They really were big, and powerful. In one big swoop, Castiel was in the sky, hundreds of feet up. He soared around, silhouetted against the bright moon, and then he was gone.

               The bus pulled to a stop, and John Winchester greeted them.

               “Boys, what are you doing here?”

               “We brought you an umbrella. Castiel took it.” Despite this, Dean couldn’t stop grinning.

               John nodded, and laughed. “Sure, OK, well, it’s late. We should get home.”

               “C’mon, Sam, let’s go.” Dean shrugged Sam, waking him gently. “I saw Cas, just now.”

               “ _Castiel_?! You didn’t wake me up?!”

Dean laughed, and began to recount what had happened as they walked.


	4. Trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean grow a tree, with a little bit of help.

CHAPTER 4:

“So, he just gave you this bundle thing?” Jo squinted at the parcel in Dean’s hands from across the room.

               “Yeah. He gave it to me, and then just…flew off.”

               “He _flew_?” Sam leaned back against the bed, smiling.

               “You _know_ he flew, I told you that.” Dean chuckled.

               “Well, what’s _in_ it?” Jo sighed, exasperated.

               “I dunno.”

               “You haven’t _opened it_?” Jo hissed. “Why not?”

               Dean shrugged. “I dunno. I just…What if its magic, and opening it wastes the spell, so if I open it now, I won’t have it when I need it?”

               Jo groaned loudly, throwing her head back and becoming a ragdoll. “What if he wanted you to open it as soon as you got home? That’s what he said, right?”

               Dean hesitated. Castiel _had_ said that He could open it when he got back to the house. But what if he needed it?

               “If you don’t open it now, I will.” Sam threatened, and dean swiped the parcel back, holding it to his chest.

               “No you won’t, Cas gave this to _me_!” Dean frowned at him, and the others groaned again. “Fine! I’ll open it!”

               “I wish I had a fairy to give me stuff and steal my umbrellas.” Jo mumbled.

               “He’s _not_ a fairy! And he didn’t _steal_ the umbrella, I gave it to him and he’s gonna give it back. Maybe. I didn’t exactly say it was just temporary.” Dean needed to work out what he was going to do about that. For now though, he fiddled with the hemp string on the bundle, and pulled it apart.  The leaves fell open, revealing a pile of seeds.

               “Seeds?” Sam questioned.

               “Well, yeah. He’s a…I don’t know, a forest…thing.” Dean gestured with his hands, struggling to find the words.

               “Well…do you think they’re magic seeds?” Jo poked the pile, making some fall onto the bed.

               “Stop that.” Sam hissed, battering her hand away. “I don’t know, how do we find out if they’re magic?”

               “Uh…I guess we plant them?” Dean pondered.

               “Well, let’s plant them!” Sam grinned.

               “Listen, I’d love to join you on your gardening adventure, but I have to go. Mom needs me to help her fix the car.” Jo mumbled, pushing herself up from the chair.

               “But you just got here!”

               “I’ve been here for _hours_ , Dean! We spent a whole entire hour just tryin’ to find Sam in hide an’ seek!”

               “’s not _my_ fault you’re so bad at seeking.” Sam mumbled, and Dean shouldered him lightly.

               “OK, Jo, do you want us to wait ‘til next time you’re here to plant them?” Dean pushed himself up to a stand.

               “Nah, you can plant them. Castiel might get mad if I help, ‘cause he gave them to you, not me.” The brothers opened their mouths to protest, but Jo waved them away, shuffling her shoes on. “Have fun. Thanks for dinner. I’ll see you on Monday!” She grinned at them, and yelled a goodbye to John, wherever he was in the house. She waited for the reply, and began skidding down the hill to the road leading to her house.

               “So,” Dean turned to his brother and grabbed the seeds, “let’s get planting!”

~*~*~*~*~

               They’d taken two trowels from the garden shed, and Sam was hauling a watering can from the water pump over to the only patch of dirt in the garden that wasn’t home to any vegetables. The one to their left had carrots. The one to the right had…something else. Dean couldn’t remember them all.

               But this one had nothing. Yet.

               Dean gave Sam the pouch of seeds, and took it upon himself to dig little dips in the soil. Sam followed him, stepping in the footprints he left behind and dropping one or two seeds into each of the dips and covering them back up. They planted all the seeds, and then managed the watering can between them.

               “OK, so, we’re done. Now what?” Dean dropped the watering can off next to the pump and turned to his brother.

               “Can we camp out here and see if they grow?” Sam asked.

               Dean scoffed. “They’re not gonna grow overnight.”

               “But _Dean_ , they’re _magic_! You don’t know that! _Please?”_ Sam begged, turning on his pleading puppydog eyes.

               “Fine, we’ll ask dad.” Dean sighed, smiling.

~*~*~*~**~*~

John, of course, said yes. Sam didn’t even have to beg. It was early in the year, but not that cold. They had a tent, although it had never been used. John had bought it before they moved. Before Mary got ill. They were going to go camping.

               They still would, when she got better.

The tent was difficult to set up, and their dad did most of it, but by their bed times, the tent, the sleeping bags, pillows, and Sam’s soft toys were all in their place.

               “Night, dad!” The brothers yelled as their father strode back into the house.

               “OK,” Dean turned to Sam, “now, what do ya wanna do?”

               “I wanna sleep, Dean!” Sam moaned.

               “We can’t sleep, you wanted to watch the seeds to see if they grew!”

               Sam sighed. “Tell me a story.”

               Dean lay back in his sleeping bag, with a near explosive sigh. “What about?”

               “…Monsters.”

               “You’re gonna get nightmares.” Dean warned.

               “No I’m not! I’ve met Castiel now, he’s kind of like a monster. But a good one. So I know that some monsters are good and safe.” Sam tipped his chin up, proud to be apparently unafraid of the monsters.

               “OK. But just this once.” Dean cleared his throat as his mind raced for a story. He settled on one, and rolled to face Sam. “This story is about two brothers, and their dad, who go around saving people from monsters. Their dad got into it cos their mom did it with her family, and it’s been passed down…” And so Dean launched into a story of a family business: ‘ _saving people, hunting things’._ “But not all of the things they met were bad—they made a best friend you could use magic powers and stuff to help them!”

               Sometime into the third sequel in the epic odyssey of the brothers, Dean realized that Sam had fallen asleep. He wasn’t going to complain; he was pretty tired himself. He smiled at his brother, snoring lightly and clutching a plushie to his chest.

               “ _Night, Sammy_.” He whispered, and settled into his sleep.

~*~*~*~*~*~*

               There were noises outside.

Dean shifted, unable to sleep through the sounds. What _was_ that? He sat up at the same time Sam did, the younger Winchester rubbing the sleep out his eyes.

               “ _What’s that noise?”_

               ‘That noise’ was a melody that Dean had heard, once before. Recently. It sounded like a flute, or pipe, or something, but it was the same tune Castiel had played him with the raindrops. When he told this to Sam, the younger one’s eyes lit up.

               “ _Do you think it’s Castiel?”_

Dean nodded, and moved towards the zipped opening of the tent. He opened the flap, and they peered out.

               Castiel was out there, with his two little birds, dancing around the patch of soil in which their seeds were planted. He would take three skips forward, one shuffle back, and then three forward again. The birds hopped along in the same pattern behind him, tweeting along to the panpipes Castiel was playing.

               “ _Awesome.”_ Sam hissed, and pushed past him to leave the tent. Dean followed him though the garden, and Castiel stopped playing the pipes to smile at them.

               The brothers joined in the dance, singing along to the tune that Castiel resumed. It was fun, and after a while Castiel changed the dance, but the birds danced differently, so the Winchesters made up their own jig. Castiel upped the tempo and the dance sped up. Dean spun Sam around and tugged him along, until he bumped into Castiel’s back.

               The creature had stopped moving, as had his fluff-bird colleagues, as the tune changed yet again. This time, it was something slow, and low, and serious. The three of them stood facing the soil, with their heads bowed as the almost sorrowful notes danced their own dance on the breeze. One of the birds looked up at them, realized that they weren’t bowing their heads, and looked impatiently at them. Dean didn’t know a bird could look impatient, but this one manged it well, so he ducked his head.

               The song picked up and reached what sounded like an end, and Castiel waved his hand. The pipes disappeared. Dean heard himself gasp, and saw Cas smile ruefully. He crouched slowly, clenching his fists and screwing up his face. After a few seconds, he opened one eye and looked at them, nodding to indicate that they should copy him. Dean mimicked his position and tapped Sam so he did the same. Castiel opened his eyes and jumped up, extending his arms above his head. Dean and Cas copied him, and the fluff-birds did the same. They repeated this action, each time with more vigour. Dean didn’t know what they were doing it, but it was fun. Any questions he might have asked were answered when, after maybe the fourth time they jumped, small shoots erupted from the soil. Sam cheered, and Castiel laughed while the birds hopped around. Dean just stared. The shoots were _glowing_ , with little blue sparks that he hadn’t seen since they found the fluff feathers the first day.

               “Cas, what do we do now?”

               “Well, we can’t just leave them like this!” Castiel hummed softly. He crouched again, and the other four copied him. They jumped at the same time, and the shoots exploded upwards, weaving together to form a broad, immense tree, so big it blocked out the moon.

               “Woah…” Dean and Sam chorused, craning their necks to look up at the tree.

               “Do you want to see something amazing?” Castiel looked at them, grinning excitedly. The brothers nodded, and huge black wings spread behind Cas, and he held his hands out. When Sam took one, Castiel pulled the boy up on his shoulder.

               “A…Are we gonna fly?” Dean asked.

               Castiel tilted his head. “Yes. Are you afraid?”

               Dean stuttered, “u-um, no, I just—um…”

               “You’ll be perfectly safe, I promise. Trust me, Dean.” Castiel twitched his fingers, egging him on.

               Dean hesitated, but took Castiel’s hand. The creature pulled him up on his other shoulder, and rustled his wings.

               They left the ground and Dean clung to Castiel, not missing the tiny chuckle in the creature’s throat. Deans pyjamas rustled in the breeze from the movement, and his skin prickled with the cold breeze. He jammed his eyed shut, not wanting to see the ground shrink below them as they ascended. It seemed like forever, but eventually Dean felt them slow and land amongst the leaves of the newly-grown tree.

               There was rustling as the three of them (plus birds,) settled in, effectively nesting.

               “You can see so much of the town! Look, Dean, there’s your school!” Sam gasped.

               “Mhm,” Dean hummed, reluctant still to open his eyes.

               “You can look, Dean. I won’t let you fall.” Castiel rested his hand on his shoulder, keeping him steady. Dean shook his head and breathed out slowly, and Castiel continued, “It’s OK, Dean. You’re OK.”

               Dean took big, deep breathes, and opened his eyes, casting his gaze around. They were awfully high. If Dean were to fall, or, God forbid, Sam lost his balance, they would definitely not survive. But, they wouldn’t fall. Because Castiel had promised they’d be safe.

               Dean steeled himself and refocussed his attention to the sky in front of him.

               The stars. He’d never been so close to them before. They were _beautiful_. And the moon was so _big_. Everything up here was so still, except for them. Castiel commanded the sky, and _it_ was beautiful.

The leaves of the tree they were in--They glowed too, and it made the sky look darker, which made the stars and the moon look brighter against it. It was amazing. Dean had never seen anything so pretty.

And Sam was right—his school was there, and it looked so small, nestled between grassy hills and dirt tracks. Below them, an owl flew, and Dean wasn’t afraid. Much. It was peaceful.

Dean suddenly felt tired. He couldn’t stifle a yawn, and leant heavily against Castiel, who seemed to be facing the same problem on the other side of him, with Sam.

“I’m sorry for tiring you both out.”

The boys protested wordlessly, but Dean felt his eyes drooping, and his last waking moment approaching. “Night, Cas.”

Castiel hummed. “Goodnight, Sam and Dean Winchester.”

The last thing Dean saw was the huge moon illuminating the sky.

~*~*~*~*~*~

Dean woke up and momentarily forgot where he was.

The tent was cold, but the sleeping bag was warm. He didn’t want to get up. He felt the sunlight through the tarp, but rejected it, favouring to roll over and try to go back to—

“ _Dean_!” Sam yelled. He was outside the tent. Traitor.

Dean manoeuvred his way out of the tent, keeping the sleeping bag around him like a worm. “What?”

Sam pointed to the soil, where inch-high stems were growing. “We did it! _We did it_! They’re _growing_!”   


End file.
